After a reliever enters the game, but before he throws his first strike, there’s always the chance you caught him on that day, that one time when he won’t be able to throw a strike.

Ball one. There’s a chance. Ball two. There’s a chance. Strike one. Too bad. Now you have to hit.

Strike one doesn’t come that quickly for Derek Holland. He throws four balls to Nate Schierholtz, who has drawn six walks against left-handers in his entire career.

Brian Wilson keeps warming up for the Giants. Cody Ross comes to the plate, and the crowd is chanting Cody, Cody. Ball one, and Holland asks for a new ball. The cameras show his manager, and his pitching coach — stage-1 worry. Holland is licking his lips. Is his mouth drying? He throws ball two, and the roar gets bigger. Fox shows the close-up shot of Holland, and this time his breathing looks shallower, and his shoulders and chest rise as he forces himself to take a deep breath.

Ball three, and the crowd noise doubles again. It’s rising exponentially now, until its almost hysterical. It’s like when that guy went on Press Your Luck and figured out how to avoid whammies forever — excitement replaced by confused giddyness, or giddy confusion. This isn’t about the rally anymore, or hoping to get one run; this is about maybe seeing the opposing team melt down and allow eight. Sergio Romo is warming up. The closer, Brian Wilson, has stopped throwing. Holland stoops for rosin.

Ball four. Eight straight.

Look at the body language in this moment.

Holland is looking down at the ground, like maybe it’s his landing spot that’s making him wild? Cody Ross, who did nothing but obey four straight take signs, struts out of the box like Chester Cheetah. The umpire looks away, like the uninvolved party in an embarrassing feud — don’t look at me, I’m just sitting here. That older man in the second row is the living definition of a chortle. And Treanor, the catcher, is steeling himself for that tough walk to the mound.

Here’s Mike Maddux. “Now just settle down, son.”

“I’m going to leave you with a joke, ok? Because this isn’t so serious. Just fun and games. ”

Except you don’t really believe either of those smiles, do you?

Now Fox shows Nolan Ryan. Stage-2 concern. Ball one. A reliever gets up in the bullpen. “But it may be too late,” Joe Buck says. Nine pitches. It may be too late, after nine pitches. And he’s right. Ball 10 crosses up his catcher. His shortstop comes in to say something to him. Camera shows his General Manager, Jon Daniels. Stage-3 panic. Ball 11, and Holland is one pitch away from walking in a run in the World Series.

And, finally, a strike.

At this point, every shot is Holland. It’s either Holland, or it’s somebody (manager/pitching coach/president/GM/shortstop) worrying about Holland, or it’s a fan laughing at Holland. They say Michael Jordan used to be able to take over a game in a way that a baseball player never could, but that’s not true. Derek Holland has taken over this game. There is nothing the Giants can or can’t do. There is nothing the other Rangers can or can’t do.

He shakes off his catcher. He throws a fastball over the plate, but it’s too high, and Holland has walked in the run. He’s out of the game.

Makes you want to cry, right? Even if you’re a Giants fan.

The amazing thing is that this doesn’t happen more often. It’s really, really hard to throw a strike. There were 3,779 3-0 counts in the American League this year (not counting intentional walks). The pitcher, at that point, knows that he has no margin for error. He knows the batter isn’t swinging, and he can pump a batting practice fastball down the middle. And umpires are way more generous on 3-0 counts, expanding the size of the strike zone by as much as half. Nothing should be easier than throwing a strike on 3-0, and STILL a third of those 3-0 counts (1,303) became four-pitch walks. Even allowing for the “unintentional intentional walk” skewing those numbers, that’s a lot. It’s really, really hard to throw strikes.

Put me in front of 50,000 people and I wouldn’t be able to tie my shoes. I don’t have any idea how these guys do it. And yet, they do. Just seven times this year a pitcher walked three batters without recording an out. Sixty-one times, pitchers walked three or more without pitching a full inning. That’s in 13,000 total appearances by relievers. Somehow, in situations that should induce panic, they perform an act of precision that is difficult under even calm circumstances.

What I’m saying is, Derek Holland was awful last night, but that 3-0 fastball to Aubrey Huff — the strike down the middle at 93 mph — might have been the most amazing athletic achievement we see all week.

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